


Under Her Skirt

by Lazy_Martian



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Crack, F/F, Humor, OOC, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, Silly, Vaginal Fingering, Valentine's Day, actually not very sexy given the word choice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 04:43:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9803084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazy_Martian/pseuds/Lazy_Martian
Summary: My friend doesn't find the traditionally "sexy" terms for female anatomy attractive, and recently praised a WidowTracer fic for its avoidance of the word "pussy." I accepted this as a challenge to write a fic completely devoid of the words "pussy", "vagina", or "c*nt" to show him just how terribly sexy alternative wording can be. Emphasis on terrible.AKA this fic is just PWP with a lot of intentionally unappealing wording; it's up to you to decide if it's more sexy or silly.





	

Lena Oxton had known this was coming. Her girlfriend, Amelie, had discussed this kink of hers for weeks now, and as a Valentine’s Day gift, Lena had bashfully agreed to it. Which is how she found herself sitting at an outdoor café table, completely devoid of underwear, cheeks burning with humiliation; she shivered as a breeze ruffled her embarrassingly short skirt, a chill running up her spine when cool tendrils of air brushed over her bare hot box. Amelie, sitting remarkably close to her, looked like the cat that had gotten the cream, as smug as anything, eyes sparkling with the low light of lust. The thought that they could be caught by any discerning stranger passing on the street made the sniper’s insides flutter, and she was eager to begin.

Lena hadn’t even finished half of her Italian soda when she felt a cool hand on her thigh, the light tickle of fingertips brushing up the creamy inner expanse making her straighten up, flushing to the tips of her ears as she shot Amelie a shocked, almost nervous look.

“A- _ Already _ ..?” she hissed under her breath, trying to ignore the heat that curled in her hips at the thought of her lover’s ladylike digits digging into her juicy peach pot. “Yes,  _ Mon Cherie _ , already…you looked so ravishing, wearing that shade of red, I simply could not resist,” came the reply, purred in a heady French accent. A small sound threatened to spill from Lena’s mouth, but she clamped her lips to keep it contained. “But by the look of it,” Amelie continued, “you are just as ready yourself, my love…”

Those fingers drifted up further, and Lena inhaled abruptly as she felt the tips of manicured nails caress her groin. The first digit teasingly traced her southern seam, already starting to dampen; the looks Amelie was giving her, and the way she  _ spoke _ , in that husky, craving voice were doing terrible things to her. “And by the  _ feel _ of it, too—my,  _ already _ ?” Amelie mocked, her grin positively devilish. Lena glared at her, but the effect quickly diminished when two finger tips scissored open and spread her dewy slit, causing her to gasp and bite down on her lip in a terrible attempt to remain discreet.

It wasn’t as though Lena could deny these accusations; her button was lathered in slippery arousal, her core burning with a heat only Widow’s fingers crammed insensitively into her silky clutch would quench. She twisted her torso, trying to look casual as her thighs fell open a little wider, her heel tapping on the pavement below. Amelie looked amused, lips quirked into a thin smirk, one eyebrow cocked; Lena responded by endeavoring to look angry, but with her tomato-red face and slightly hunched shoulders, she looked more mortified than anything. The Frenchwoman was clearly biting back triumphant snickering.

A slim, elongated middle finger slid down Lena’s swollen crease, dragging over her diddle dot as it went, and the brown-haired woman clenched her jaw with a quiet noise, shuddering. She kept one hand casual and relaxed on top of the table to maintain appearances, but the other was digging into her lover’s thigh like talons, squeezing the supple muscle in an effort to keep herself grounded. “Look at all this slippery honey clinging to your Netherlands, my sweet,” Amelie whispered into her ear, her tone  _ predatory _ . “You are just as eager for me to fill your tender tunnel as I am…!” Lena, too ashamed for words, just nodded shakily. There were other diners sitting at tables all around, just feet away, and this bustling district of downtown – chosen purposely by Amelie for its popularity, Lena was sure – was crawling with other people and omnics alike, poised to spot them in the act at any moment. She felt as though her every move was being watched, when really the only gaze on her was her girlfriend’s, hungry and intent.

A low, shaky breath shivered free from Lena’s lips as Amelie sank the first finger into her cherry pit, head reeling with a mix of emotions – primarily humiliation and strange, twisted arousal. She’d never done something as thrilling, as taboo as this, and it had the odd effect of forming a molten heat settled low in her abdomen while the icy chill of anxiety pumped through her veins. The feeling was doubled when their waiter returned with their orders – a grilled cheese and soup for Lena, and a simple salad for Amelie – and her girlfriend  _ didn’t withdraw her finger _ . The young pilot felt faint as she had to keep a straight face during the brief exchange, the man so close to uncovering their dirty little secret; Amelie was smirking so broadly it looked like her lips could split. “Hmm, seems your bisque isn’t the only soupy thing at this table,  _ Mon Amie _ ,” the Frenchwoman joked, tittering ruthlessly as her finger pushed into her meaty depths past the second knuckle before pulling back almost all the way. Lena whimpered and her hand shot out to grab her lover’s wrist so her hand wouldn’t completely leave her spongy core.

Amelie snorted, but her expression was one of complete victory at the state she’d reduced her girlfriend too – nonverbal begging. She cupped Lena’s budding flower, grinding the heel of her palm into the needy nub topping the dribbling cleft before she teased her fingers back in – this time, two. Lena had to clutch at the table to keep herself from arching too noticeably. A small squirt of fluids leaked into Widow’s palm, and she murmured huskily into her smaller lover’s blushing ear, “Oh my, dearest, look at this waterfall of  _ rich drippings _ you have to offer me…” To which Lena, desperate to remain coherent, squeaked in reply, “I’m sorry, A-Amelie, but you turn me into a leaky faucet when you touch me…like that..!” “No need to apologize,  _ mon aubergine _ ,” the sniper assured her, punctuating the sentence with another deep thrust of her phalanges.

Lena was short of breath, her moist hole clenching around the intruding fingers as little pulses of desire ran through her. She couldn’t make noise, couldn’t let the truth slip out—! In a sudden move to quiet her needy sounds, which she couldn’t seem to rein in on her own, she crashed into a kiss with Amelie, a little more intense than she’d been intending. She tried to make it as casual as possible, lips firmly shut so their PDA wouldn’t repulse passers-by, but the strength of the motion had them pushed together far more closely than a chaste peck between sweethearts would. While she had the force of another pair of lips to muffle her soft sounds, Lena took the chance to rock her hips and ride the fingers inside her sopping cavern, knowing she’d be far too loud with her mouth unoccupied to do so. Amelie seemed outright  _ surprised _ , and when the Brit pulled back to catch her breath with soft, labored panting, she had to blink away the shock – but almost immediately, the expression of burning lust settled back over her features.

Her fingers slipped out of their velvety confinement, much to Lena’s disappointment, before the Frenchwoman spoke; “Mm, I think I am going to visit the restroom and…freshen up. Excuse me,” she murmured, innocently enough. What  _ wasn’t _ so innocent was the low whisper in Lena’s ear that followed: “Meet me there in two minutes; knock four times – two slow, two fast – and I will let you in.” The pilot swallowed thickly, but nodded, her cheeks hot and her inner thighs damp with desire. With that, Amelie walked inside, her hips swaying saucily. Those two minutes were a struggle; Lena picked at her food, one had bunched in her skirt as she rubbed her thighs together, desperate for clandestine satisfaction. She checked her watch compulsively, and when the allotted time had  _ finally _ elapsed, she bolted upright, practically sprinting to the little patisserie’s single-occupancy lady’s room.

She was trembling as she knocked just how Amelie had asked, and gasped when the door unlocked and she was almost frantically yanked inside; petite, yet powerful hands pinned her against the door as the deadbolt was latched again, her girlfriend capturing her in a messy, passionate kiss. “Mm, you have no idea how badly I have wanted to sample your nectar this whole luncheon,  _ Mon Amie _ ,” she purred roughly once they broke, and spun them around so Lena was backed against the cool tile of the opposite wall instead. She gasped, letting out a short moan before she bit her lip in anticipation; Amelie was in the process of tying her long hair back and looking starved. She dropped to her knees in record time, easily lifting one of Lena’s legs to hook over her shoulders as she bunched that short skirt up around her hips, exposing her soaking muff in all its dripping glory. “I’m going to drink your milkshake dry, darling,” she cooed as she spread her open with two fingers yet again.

Lena stiffened and cried out softly, shoving a hand down to tangle in the remaining free strands of her lover’s hair, bosom heaving erratically. Her sopping carpet enticed Amelie to suckle at her full rose petals, and Lena arched, quaking like the earth along a fault line. Her tongue slipped out to lap at her lady bits, flicking energetically over the whole of her square footage; the pilot writhed over her girlfriend, attempting to stifle her mewls of pleasure with a palm sandwiched over her mouth. She was quickly coming undone, the knowledge that she was receiving cunnilingus in a public restroom coupled with Amelie’s honed ministrations driving her wild, especially when two expert extremities entered her slick cavern again, thrusting repeatedly while Amelie’s tongue lapped and swivelled over her love bud. “Look at you, such a mess from having me churn your butter..!” the Frenchwoman hissed against her pale pubis; “Mm, I will whip you into a  _ frothy cream _ ~!”

Faintly, Lena thought that making her cream wouldn’t take long at all; the sauce of her sex dribbled down her inner thighs as those fingers so thoroughly swirled her slush pool. Each entrance into lubricated depths was met with a squelching sucking of the feelers probing her, her gut twisting with tense need as her flaps quivered, heart thudding in her chest. “ _ Ahn _ , I’m...g-getting close, luv…!” she whined, toes curling in her trainers and head thrown back against the wall. To say that the French are prideful in their accomplishments is an understatement, so Amelie was nearly ready to build an Arc de Triomphe as a testament to her oral abilities; she was grinning even as she slurped on Lena’s honeycomb, fingers like pistons steamrolling into the other woman’s anatomy. It took a few curled-over drags of her finger tips down the wetted walls of her meaty slot and an animalistic zig-zagging of her girlfriend’s tongue across her engorged center to have Lena convulsing against the bathroom wall with breathless squeals of release.

  
Amelie did everything in her power to help her British beauty ride out the waves of climax, lavishing her rocking hips with wet kisses as she rubbed her palm into the swell of her plush crevice. When Lena finally went limp and loose as a rubber goose overhead, she slid her digits from her delectably damp succulence before licking the surrounding area spotless. She revelled in the success of rendering her girlfriend so utterly blissed and boneless in the openly public bathroom. She tugged Lena’s miniskirt back into place, effectively concealing her fur patch once again before she stood and kissed the other woman’s flushed cheek. “Happy Valentine’s day,  _ Mon Cherie _ ,” she cooed, “We simply  _ must _ do this again next year~”


End file.
